She was a decorated army veteran. Administrative specialist—ordering supplies—in the thick of battle, a base near Fallujah.

Honorable discharge three years ago. Pure as milk.

A greasy box sat next to Milo’s computer. “Want some brunch?”

“No, thanks.”

He fortified himself with a cruller, a donut, and a bear claw. Wiped his chin and announced, “Now the fun part of my day,” and phoned Santos’s parents in Arizona.

Her mother answered and he said, “It’s Lieutenant Sturgis from L.A., again,” and labored unsuccessfully to avoid frightening the woman. When he finally worked in John Jensen Williams’s name, she said, “Never heard of him, sir.” A gasp. Tears.

A new voice came on, sharp as a box cutter. Captain Henry Santos, U.S. Army (ret.), taking the phone from his wife. “What’s that name?” he snapped.

Milo repeated it. “He could also be going by J.J. or Jens—”

“Negative on all counts. Not known to the family. You’re saying he did something to Merry?”

“We don’t know that, sir.”

“But you suspect or you wouldn’t be bringing him up.”

“We’re not sure but it’s possible, Captain Santos.”

“None of this makes sense, sir. I trained the girl in self-defense, she knows how to take care of herself.”

I thought: Martial arts takes on a black-belt in psychopathy? Don’t get your hopes up.

Milo said, “For all we know she hasn’t—”

“This is going to be bad,” said Henry Santos. “I can feel it.”

A check of the APBs and BOLOs on the van, the Corolla, and the Lexus produced no leads.

Milo said, “Wonder if the Corey girls knew Williams was living next door, maybe they can identify the woman with him … I’m groping, but let’s give it another try.”

The sisters had stopped using their credit cards.

I said, “If they’re staying with relatives in Canada, maybe you can find out who. What was Ursula’s maiden name?”

He flipped through the Corey murder book, shook his head. “Her middle name on her license, ready for this: Gladys.” He logged onto county tax records. Nothing.

I said, “May I?”

“May you what?”

“Type.”

A civilian using a police computer is a big no-no. Every day Milo and I spend working together probably breaks a dozen rules.

I sped straight onto the information highway, plugging in ursula gladys british diplomat, hoping the combination of keywords would narrow things down.

It did.

A single hit, but the right one: eleven-year-old obituary from The Times of London.

Lionel P. L. Overland, a retired foreign service official who’d been posted to Bangkok, Singapore, and Hong Kong, had passed after a long illness. Eton, Cambridge, London University, faithful service to the Crown, et cetera. Retirement enriched by a love for orchids originating during his years in the Far East.

Preceded in death by his wife Gladys Mae, survived by his only child, Ursula Gladys Corey.